


Alexithymia

by Anonymous



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alexithymia, Alexithymic!John, Angst, Depression, Doubts in Relationship, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hot Space Era, Hurt/Comfort, I am not a subject matter expert, Mental Illness, Mentions of Suicide, Multi, Poly!Queen Week 2019, depressed!brian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 04:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20901713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Are you saying just now that you don’t need me?”John recognizes the anger – of all times, this moment he can recognize an emotion – and scowls. “Yes, Brian, because this track needs a different kind of guitar sound so I’m putting my touch on it! I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this!”Brian doesn’t think when the words tumble out, “Of course you don’t understand! You would if you actually had a heart!”(Or, an alexithymic John navigates his way through the Hot Space era.)





	Alexithymia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tikini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tikini/gifts), [jessahmewren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessahmewren/gifts).

> Hello, hello! So I decided to contribute for Poly!Queen Week. I'm not new in the fandom but I've never written Poly!Queen before. I think this checks off some of the prompts in the overall list: fighting/argument, one (two here) of the boys struggling with mental illness, someone is crying, a little bit of the someone goes missing, kind of.
> 
> I'm gifting this to Tikini and jessahmewren; as a thank you for hosting Poly!Queen week (who I think need a lot of love this week because of some of the negativity, whew). Consider it a gift from a secret admirer, hehe.
> 
> I am not a subject matter expert, please do not use this fictional work as reference for mental illness studies.

If John were being honest with himself, he has never been good at telling people how he feels. He doesn’t know where it’s from or how it happened in the first place, but he knows he was broken from the start.

He found out, as he grew older, that it has a name; _alexithymia_. It’s something he’s been working so, so hard to overcome. He doesn’t know if it means he’s anxious or depressed or _anything_, he just knows he’s not good with emotions, at expressing them, at managing them.

He supposes he can _feel_, but he doesn’t know what his feelings are. He isn’t sure of the words that others use to describe them. He doesn’t recognize them the way others say they do.

He can still recognize that he’s _lucky_ for having partners who love him despite of it. Well, at least, they say they love him – with every caress, every kiss, even if he doesn’t make love with them _all _the time. They also say how they know he loves them too, from his words and gestures and actions.

(_He isn’t sure and he doesn’t think he wants to be sure, because what if it’s not love after all?_

_What if he can’t actually feel after all?_)

Freddie, Brian, and Roger has already known and accepted him. They take good care to express their feelings often, especially their love. John can somewhat logically make sense of the feelings, connect patterns of expressions to label them, learn what he is expected to feel on different circumstances. However, when he says what he feels, he doesn’t know if he means it, or if his feelings are real.

He doesn’t know what they see in him. How can they stand him? Aren’t they sick of him, every time he’s unable to tell, even to himself, when he’s glad, or sorrowful, or terrified, or so in love with them?

(_They aren’t. They know. They stay with him and love him._)

Music helps, of course. It becomes not only his outlet of expression but also his means of connecting with his partners. Creative discourse keeps them alive…

…until one day it doesn’t.

* * *

John doesn’t mean for Hot Space to hurt anyone. He just discovered that the sounds of disco synchronize perfectly with the sounds in his soul, the sounds he hadn’t been able to find years ago when he didn’t have his hand on the steering wheel of Queen.

That’s why he wants to cherish it. If he becomes a little overprotective of it, surely it’s only reasonable.

Brian sighs in exasperation. “The guitar doesn’t sound right, John–”

“It sounds just the way I want it, Brian.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to play it like that.”

“That’s alright,” John assures him genuinely. “_I’m _playing the guitars on this one.”

John returns to setting up the sounds, then looks up when Brian doesn’t respond. Brian is frozen there, as if replaying the words in his head. His expression flits through shock, dejection, and finally a simmering rage. “Are you saying just now that you don’t need me?”

John recognizes the anger – of all times, this moment he can recognize an emotion – and scowls. “Yes, Brian, because this track needs a different kind of guitar sound so I’m putting my touch on it! I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this!”

Brian doesn’t think when the words tumble out, “Of course you don’t understand! You would if you actually had a heart!”

There was dead silence in the studio. Roger, who has been at peak disinterest in the album, and Freddie, who is for _once _present in the studio and has gotten quite used to arguments in the studio nowadays, haven’t paid much attention to their quarrel until now.

Brian, with his red-rimmed eyes and shaky breaths, clamps his hand over his mouth in realization of what he just said. He takes a step back, two steps, before he turns and runs out of the studio.

Freddie doesn’t hesitate to sprint after him. “Brian!”

Roger decides that he doesn’t have time to panic and focuses on John, who is now staring blankly at the door from where the other two just left.

“Love?” Roger whispers, approaching him cautiously as if he were a trapped animal.

John looks at Roger with a lost expression. He frowns, as if trying to find words, but then sighs in defeat.

Roger sighs, too, and wraps his arms around John. John is rigid, but not too much to be put off by the touch, so Roger dares to squeeze him gently and rub his arm. “Let’s get you back to the hotel, okay?”

John breathes out. “What about Brian?”

“Freddie’s got him. Let me take care of you.”

* * *

They abandon the studio and return to the hotel. Roger guides him to their suite, into their bedroom, and sits him gently on their bed. He stands away at a comfortable distance, as if assessing whether or not John has his emotions registered. He doesn’t know if his presence helps or hinders.

John looks up at him miserably and asks weakly, “What should I say to Brian?”

Roger’s face softens and he moves closer, runs a trembling hand through John’s hair, and drops a kiss to his head.

How does he explain to John, that the album has been hard on all four of them, because Freddie has been away from them for more days than with them, because the sounds have eventually excluded both Brian and Roger? How does he explain that for Brian, who takes things to heart and suffers more from his depression, everything is so much worse?

God, Roger hopes Freddie caught up with him. He can already tell Brian loathes himself for not being good enough to be needed for the album, and now he’s going to loathe himself for insisting on becoming the center of attention, hurting his loved one, and being too cowardly to come back home.

John leans into Roger, still waiting for an answer, and Roger kisses the top of his head again gently. “I know you didn’t mean to upset him. Brian knows, too. And if he doesn’t, he will eventually. I promise.”

John contemplates it for a while and seems to accept the answer. “Okay.”

Roger smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He knows when John needs his space. “You should get changed. Sleep this off for a bit. You’ll feel better.”

“I feel just fine,” John says automatically, belatedly recognizing the squeeze in his chest and the tightness in his throat.

“No, you don’t,” Roger says, knowing better, making this part of learning for John. “Go to sleep. But don’t lock the door, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Roger doesn’t think about how empty the response sounds. _That’s just how he sounds. All the time_. He scans the room to make sure nothing sharp or hot is lying around and softly closes the door on his way out.

John changes out of his clothes, lies on their bed, and for the first time realizes that he’s shivering.

_You would understand if you had a heart._

He shuts his eyes tightly, the squeezing in his chest forcing his breaths out in short, frustrated huffs.

_You would understand if you had a heart._

He rolls to his side and curls tightly into himself. His hands make their way up to his hair, yanking.

_If you had a heart._

He doesn’t know if he could feel hurt from hearing that he couldn’t feel hurt.

_If you had a heart._

He prays for emptiness. Blackness. Maybe death.

_You don’t have a heart._

* * *

John wakes to the sound of their door swinging open and the sound of quiet bustling. He doesn’t look at the time, but the sun is setting just outside the window.

Roger’s voice, weak and hoarse as he flings himself to the other two. “_God_, Brimi, I was so _scared_ that you’d–”

Brian’s sigh, muffled in Roger’s hair. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Freddie’s whisper, uncertain but alert. “Where’s John?”

John wills himself to fall right back to sleep then and there, but no such luck, because then Freddie quietly enters the bedroom and is not fooled for even a second that John is actually sleeping.

John hears Freddie sigh, rustle out of his clothes, and quietly slip behind him under the blanket. Freddie, who has always found more value in actions than words, strokes down his arm and presses a lingering kiss to the back of his neck. John deliberately arches into the touch and Freddie continues to kiss down his shoulders. When he finishes, he wraps John into a gentle hug and nuzzles into the back of his head.

“Freddie?”

“Hmm?”

John breathes deeply and tries sincerely, “I love you.”

He feels Freddie’s small smile (_genuine or reluctant he can’t tell from here_) and then another kiss. “I love you too, honey.”

John closes his eyes. “Is Brian still upset?”

There is a short silence before Freddie answers. “A little bit. He’ll get better. We all will. But what about you, darling? Are you upset?”

John slumps and sinks further into the bed. “I don’t know,” he whispers in defeat.

Freddie hums thoughtfully and pulls him even closer. “I know. I know when you feel. I know when you care, because you’re worried more about upsetting Brian than him upsetting you.”

It makes sense, to John, but… but not really. “He didn’t upset me,” John concludes. “Because he was right. I’m not…” _Thoughtful. Careful. Human._

“You are,” Freddie finishes the thought for him. “Brian was angry. He didn’t mean it. He was dealing with something inside him, too. I hope you’ll forgive him.”

_Freddie spotted Brian a few streets down before he went too far away. Brian was shaking, as if terrified of himself. Freddie caught up with him, grabbed his hand tightly, and dragged him into an alley, away from prying eyes. Brian struggled to break away from Freddie, because Freddie couldn't possibly still love him, not anymore, not in Munich. But Freddie kept his grip tight, pulled Brian into his arms once they were alone, and hushed him over his incoherent mumbling. _

_Brian allowed the comfort, allowed Freddie to surround him for what felt like hours. They slid to the ground and finally breathed in unison, the sun setting low behind them_.

John feels his muscles loosen and his breathing ease. He still cannot pinpoint why, but it makes sleep come easier this time.

* * *

When John wakes again, the sky has gone dark and the room gone much colder, the way Munich always is after midnight.

Freddie is still there but no longer plastered to his back. Roger is lying next to him, completely passed out from the exhaustion of the day.

John is much more awake when he realizes Brian is still not in bed. Now that he looks at Roger clearly, Brian must have carried him in not too long ago, because the blanket is tucked neatly over him and not tangled the way it would get when Roger stretches in his sleep to take up all the space he can.

_Roger stayed up with Brian who didn’t want to sleep inside the bedroom. They were curled on the sofa, Roger wrapped around him. Roger told him he was ridiculous, told him, “Of course John will forgive you.” Brian was stubborn and kept telling Roger to leave him be. Roger was even more stubborn, so for hours he held Brian close and pressed gentle kisses until Roger fell asleep himself. _

_Brian, still wide awake, sighed and kissed his cheek softly, thinking of how much he didn't deserve him, before deciding to carry him into the bedroom._

The sound of soft sobbing from outside is loud in the dead of the night. John feels the heaviness returning to his chest, so he gently extricates himself away and slowly pads out of the bedroom.

The suite is dark save for the street lights illuminating from outside. John can just see Brian’s hunched figure on the sofa, his face in his hands, shaking as he tries to control his tears.

“Brian?”

Brian jolts in surprise and looks up, his eyes wet and swollen red from crying, his face sunken from the lack of sleep. John hovers there for a moment, and before Brian can even consider what to say, John sits on the space next to him.

Brian moves away (_in fear or to give him the space he needs, would he know if he were normal?_). John takes his hands and brings them up to his lips, the way the others do when they want to give comfort. John’s hands are _warm_, and Brian feels the guilt in him multiply a hundredfold.

John looks at him earnestly and whispers, “Tell me how you feel.”

Whatever Brian expects him to say, it’s nothing close to this. He whimpers and looks down in shame. He feels like he has no tears left. John’s grip on his hands is steady and warm. When Brian looks up at him again, he can only see _sincerity_.

John begs again, “Tell me how you feel.”

The dam bursts and Brian’s words flood out brokenly. “I feel alone,” he starts in a whisper. “I feel like I don’t belong here these days. I feel like none of you need me anymore because of this _damn_ album, when you and Freddie are having the time of your lives and Roger is being the best person in compromising what he wants."

John squeezes his eyes shut at his words. The weight in his chest feels more painful and he can't stop his face from crumbling. But then he feels Brian gently running his thumb over his knuckles and he forces his eyes open, staring into Brian's own glassy hazel ones.

“But I know… I know I’m not being fair, because you’re just doing what you haven’t got the chance to do when we were younger. I know I should have talked to you, _all _of you, before this got any worse, but all I did was shut myself away and hurt the people I love. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean to _hurt_ you, John…”

John leans forward to hug him and Brian clutches him, cries into his hair. He doesn’t stop to think if John’s movements are almost mechanical because he knows John loves him, he _knows_ John loves him.

“I’m sorry,” John murmurs. “I know I’m broken. I know you deserve more than this.”

“You’re not,” Brian sobs, hating himself for sending John down into this train of thoughts. “You’re not broken. You’re human and you’re beautiful and you’re perfect the way you are.”

John is shivering again, but this time Brian is there, returning his embrace tightly. John melts into Brian then and there, and he doesn’t bother trying to identify the feeling, because his body has given it away – he is home, he is _home_.

“I’m so sorry, John,” Brian mutters shakily to his ear, begging for mercy. He moves to kiss his hair, his nose, and both his cheeks. He trails down his jaw and his neck and down his chest, then splays his palm over the strong beating of his heart underneath.

He presses his lips there, just above his heart – an apology, an understanding, a promise.

He comes up to rest his lips on the crook of his neck, wetting it with tears. He silently begs that John believes him, please_, please_, because he doesn’t know what to do otherwise.

“I love you,” he murmurs weakly into his neck, his voice barely above a whisper, his body surrendering. “I love you_ so much_, sweetheart.”

John sighs warmly, resting his forehead on Brian’s. He has never been so certain in his life.

“I love you too.”

* * *

Roger flutters awake just as the sun rises. The bed is much colder than usual, so Roger turns to see only Freddie is lying there next to him. Memories of the previous day crashes over him. He sits up with a gasp, jolting Freddie awake with him.

_Oh my God._

Roger feels his heart plummet, his mind already running through worst case scenarios in quick flashes. John wandering alone outside, overwhelmed and uncertain; Brian sneaking out before dawn breaks, spiraling, heading somewhere quiet to–

He whispers shakily, "Freddie," before scrambling out of the bed, Freddie behind him once he realizes the other two aren’t there.

Roger snatches both of their jackets, runs out of the bedroom and straight to the door of their suite. Freddie suddenly grips his shoulder and Roger halts, twisting back to see the sight he has just missed.

Brian and John are fast asleep on the sofa. Brian is softly snoring with an arm circled around John, who is draped on top of him and drooling on his shirt. Their clothes and hair are rumpled, but their bodies are comfortably tangled and their faces are completely relaxed.

Roger sighs, immensely relieved, and drops to his knees on the floor next to the two sleeping figures on the sofa. He reaches up to run his hand through John’s hair and leans in to drop a kiss on Brian’s forehead. 

Freddie takes the abandoned jackets to their bedroom and comes back out with a bundle of blankets. He spreads one over Brian and John, spreads one on the floor below, and offers the other one to Roger.

Roger chuckles softly, the remains of his exhaustion coming up after his subsiding panic. He lies on the spread blanket on the floor, snuggles up to Freddie, and covers them both with the last blanket. Freddie kisses him and holds him, his body already giving way to sleep. It’s enough proof that Freddie loves him (_Freddie loves them, he won’t leave them, not because of Hot Space, not for Munich, not for whatever else this city has to offer after sunset_).

The room is quiet and the air is peaceful. Roger allows himself to fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Alexithymia is a subclinical phenomenon involving a lack of emotional awareness or, more specifically, difficulty in identifying and describing feelings and in distinguishing feelings from the bodily sensations of emotional arousal (Nemiah et al., 1976). It is not officially registered as a mental disorder but is a condition that is linked to mental disorders (depression, PTSD, schizophrenia, autism spectrum disorder, etc). They are capable of feeling, but unable to properly express them.
> 
> This story is quite personal to me. Whatever it is that you think of others, I always believe humans are capable of love at their core. So remember to always treat others with kindness!
> 
> Please leave kudos and comments! Any favorite parts? Is it just eh compared to all the other stuff in the event? I have never done Poly!Queen before and I need Validation! Thanks for reading!
> 
> (EDIT: Polished this a bit!)


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